This is it, the Apocalypse
by ChemicalNarrative
Summary: Carl Grimes always did what he was told. He had yet to do a sinful thing. So why was he being punished like this? His dad was dead and now there was an apocalypse dawning on him and the rest of the world. (This is basically what went down when Shane saved Lori and Carl from their home.)


A/N just a quick thank you to my sister! she's the one who helped me to edit some parts and she gave me some of her 'poetic advice.'

WARNING will contain slight language and gruesome content

DISCALIMER i do not own the walking dead comic book or television series, nor it's characters.

Title is from the song "Radioactive," which i do not own either.

* * *

He could hear it all so clearly. The rough scrapes and drags of sneakers and flats across the concrete sent shivers down his spine as the mindless "people" dragged on. They didn't appear to walk. It was more as if they were being pulled…drug…by some force. Some desire.

Rapid gunshots could be heard in the background, along with the constant rumbling of tanks and other various army vehicles. It managed to make the perpetual screams of innocent victims and the ripping flesh. Sometimes there was even loud, slow poundings, complimented by fingernails scraping down the doors of every house.

Every house left, that is.

He couldn't rip himself away from his home although it hardly seemed like home anymore. What once brought happiness - soft and welcoming beds, lamps glowing with comfort…all of that warmth was now a clone of what it once was. An artifact. He knew that as soon as he daringly stepped out that door, he'd never see his home again. Not even that simple, small couch where the three of them used to curl up and-

Used to.

The third player in that sequence was gone. Dead, just as Shane had said. He knew he tried, his mom knew he tried. But his dad was never coming back. He was really gone.

The young boy was only broken from his trance when he heard the terrorizing pleas of his mother. Her big, sea-green irises were gazing down at him intently, her tears threatening to spill over any moment now. He could see the aftermath of earlier crying still embedded on her cheeks, wet trails glistening and new droplets forming in the corners of bloodshot orbs. Her lips were cracked and dry and her skin was no longer smooth and warm. It was rough, cold, and bloodied, just like everyone else left in the world. Her hair hadn't been washed in days- not since the outbreak. Her shaggy, brunette bangs clung to her forehead with sweat and contrasted with the pale, caucasian skin. Pure worry doused her face, displayed on every feature. After all, there was no use in hiding it anymore. Everyone was worried. Everyone was scared. It wasn't that hard of a concept to face nowadays. Everything you knew and loved, every soul you cared for, every life you ever laid your eyes on was doomed, slowly being sucked away into that endless black vortex of life's death. Even your own life was nonexistent. And that was hard for a twelve-year-old boy to comprehend.

"Carl!" she screamed again, wrapping her hand tightly around his freckled forearm. "We have to go! It isn't safe here anymore!"

He shook his head and tried to yank his arm away, but the long fingernails only dug into his skin. "Not without dad!" Oh god, he could barely even say it anymore. Especially with the words slipping out of his mother's gritted teeth. He could see her try to force the tears back as her forehead wrinkled.

"He's dead, darlin'," she choked, those very same tears she was fighting beginning to flow. "Your daddy's dead. And I am not about to let you die, too!"

Carl's mind whirled as his face contorted in agony. His heart grew heavier as he became enraged. His mere pre-adolescent fists shook as he retaliated with a sharp tongue. "No, he isn't!" Liquid sorrow slid down his young, pained face. "He isn't dead!"

The massive hand that rested on his shoulder made him jump then freeze as his blood ran cold, and Lori's head snapped up as her smaller hand released his trembling arm.

"Carl. I know you don't want to face the truth. None of us do," the gruff southern dialect of the speaker softened, smoothed. "But we can't stay focused on that. We gotta keep you and your mama safe. That's what Rick would want. That's what I want."

The small, frail boy turned to face the culprit. Shane loomed over him, his dark hair ruffled and his face masked with dirt and blood. The large hand didn't move from his shoulder. Instead, it brought him to his chest where Carl laid his head and let his tears fall. He let go of that last bit of hope. His heart sank and shattered, leaving nothing but a hollow shard. This wasn't right. None of it was. His parents shouldn't have thought that morning and his dad shouldn't have gone to work. He shouldn't have been shot and hurt. He shouldn't have been in a coma and he most certainly should not have died. There shouldn't have been an outbreak of such a deadly, massacring virus.

There was nothing to hold on to.

* * *

Carl tightened his grip on the doorway. No…they couldn't leave. Not yet. Something was still missing, and he was quietly pleading for just one more minute. Just sixty short seconds. That was all he needed, the Shane could bring them to safety. His mother, however, just kept prying his digits from the peeling paint of the door frame.

"Carl, please," she begged in a hushed tone, "now isn't the time for this nonsense. We have to go before we're all killed." Lori had to get that through her son's head. She was hung up on the death of her beloved husband as well, perhaps even worse than the boy. But there wasn't time for stalling, nor was there space to carry anything but the bare necessities. They had to go. They had to run. Shane was their last hope.

Yet the brunette boy failed to register her words. He tore himself away, running back to the living room before Lori or Shane had any time to react. He flung open the cabinets, grabbing every photo album he could hold from the shelves. If his dad wasn't going with them, then the memories had to suffice.

However, even just remotely thinking of his father triggered something inside of him and caused him to stop cold. Carl loved him more than anything…he was always an idol to him, a celebrity. Rick Grimes wasn't merely a father. He was everything Carl wished he could be: strong, independent, courageous, yet loving all the same. His shoulders began to tremble and he forgot how to breathe as he clutched the photo albums to his chest, coming to a horrid realization.

He hadn't gotten to say goodbye.

The child had no idea where they were, or how they got there. He could only vaguely recall the sound of his mother yelling for him, Shane hushing her then dragging the two outside, and lastly jumping into a small Jeep. He blinked a few times as he came to, only to hear the sound of arguing.

_'Mom, dad…don-' _his thought was cut short. That wasn't his father sitting in the front seat, and it never would be.

As the car sped down the freeway, the strong winds stung his eyes, making them water more than they already were.

"Look, all I'm saying is that we should get a safer vehicle! Do you not care that there are cannibalistic monsters dictating the world?"

"They walk at the speed of molasses, for Christ's sake! We're fine."

"I thought you wanted to take care of me and Carl."

"And I do. Lori, I know pretty damn well what I'm doing." His last comment made the woman fall silent. This wasn't exactly a state where arguing would solve things. Right now, they had to deal with far more important priorities.

"Carl, honey?" her voice was soft now. When she turned to look at the weary boy, a small smile caressed her face. "Are you doing alright?"

No, he wasn't doing alright. How could someone be alright when they're trapped in an apocalypse with minimal chances of survival? How could someone be alright when they felt so alone?

"Yeah, I'm fine," he quickly dismissed the conversation by looking off. Unfortunately, that turned out to be one of the worst decisions of his lifetime.

Carl had seen some pretty nasty things in his lifetime, like roadkill and other minimally gruesome things on television and in movies, but he had yet to see something so grotesque. Dead bodies were scattered along the lanes and in the medians, the flesh torn to show half-eaten organs and detached limbs. He could see some bodies jostling, the groans muffled by the winds. His eyes darted up and away from the scene before him, only to catch a glimpse of the undead limping and crawling from the outskirts of the woods and onto the highway, disturbing the walkers still trapped in their cars. The engine of the Jeep barely managed to drown out their cries. Carl was chilled to the core and the lump in his throat blocked all forms of speech. This was the world they lived in, and this would be the world they died in.

"Watch out!"

* * *

The aching cry of his mother and the slamming of breaks caused Carl to snap back to attention as he lurched forward. The flimsy seatbelt just barely kept him in place, his hands gripping the leather on either side. Once the pounding in his head subsided, he lifted his aching neck to the road before them. Not but ten feet from them stood a lone zombie, it's glazed and sunken eyes narrowed at the small group. Remnants of skin hung from his teeth and a low growl gripped through his throat as he slowly advanced on them.

His heart pounded and he instinctively clutched to his mother with his small hand enclosing around the hem of her top, making his knuckles turn white. The bright blue eyes of the boy were wide and scared, pure fear surging through his body. His small teeth bit down and punctured the delicate skin of his lip which resulted in a soft trail of blood to begin to trickle down. Shane's hand was hesitating above his pistol, not sure whether to shoot it or pass it by. However, broken down cars and other flipped vehicles blocked any path around the creature. So, in reality, there was only one sane and humane thing to do.

The gunshot made Carl's breath catch in his throat. What once had stood hunched and growling before them was now limp on the ashen road. It didn't move - not even a twitch rattled it's limbs. His breath released in a sigh, and he nearly spoke before a chorus of moans and groans with an orchestra of dragging limps and screeching fingernails broke the silence.

The three turned over their shoulders, their movements going ever so slowly yet time flew past in mere seconds. What they were faced with was more than just a bad dream.

"We've got company…"

They were facing death.

* * *

A/N i hope you enjoyed chapter 1! there will be more to come, and constructive criticism and reviews are welcome!


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